Echoes of Love
by truglasgowgal
Summary: In the end, it all comes back to love; and she is love.


Hey!  
So, this is my first toe-dip into fiction on this fandom. It's not my best (an that's not just a compliment-fishing-device) I'm trying to grab my muse back any way I can, an have been desperate to write an SE fic – finally! – so this felt a bit forced, which is why I don't feel it's my best. Although, I still feel my dedication to the cause should count for something… right? ;P

Credit mostly to **Lily** on FF for the inspiration for this by pushing me in the direction of all those vids (as well as their creators – **Jen** esp. for the vid to the song 'I Will Love You') lol  
Also, I dedicate this to **Linds **because bb is my soulmate :D (an heads up- I haven't killed anyone in this, an she hates when I do that, but she's still read them all anyway, so she kinda deserves it lol)

I hope you enjoy…

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**Title:** Echoes of Love  
**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. Title from the song 'Run Honey Run'  
**Summary:** In the end, it all comes back to love; and she is love.

"_Our love cannot be measured, it just is."  
_**John Paul Stevens**

.

He thinks he could write a million meanings for love and still come to the same conclusion; pen an unending list of songs with an identical subtext; run up an infinite amount of screen-time and his ending would remain unchanged.

The great poets and songwriters and cinematographers of the world would have nothing on him.

He's not being biased; he's not arrogant – he's the _good_ Salvatore brother, remember? He's just being honest; he has the purest inspiration, the most remarkable subject matter.

And he loves her.

With every fiber of his being, he loves her.

Every thought, every move; she is on his mind.

She penetrates even the most resilient of nightmares, the strongest of urges; everything comes back to her.

_She_ is love.

It has nothing to do with him, and everything to do with her.

That's sort of the current problem though.

He thinks he could mess up anything and everything – yes, there is _a lot_ more that he could've done to make this situation worse (he still could) – and she'd still be there for him. Still love him. Unconditionally.

Their love is a promise, a pledge within themselves and out-with everything that surrounds them; nothing compares, when they are together.

_" 'Til my body is dust,_  
_'til my soul is no more,_  
_I will love you, love you..."_  
**_'I Will Love You', Sarah Slean_**

He's locked up in this cell, and she put him there. There's nothing but the intense feeling of hunger pulsing through his veins, and the pounding in his ears that threatens to overpower him, make him deaf to everything around him, make him numb to what was once within his reach. The memories of a time past flash before his eyes, burning into his retinas even when he screws up his eyes and balls his hands like fists into the sockets, screams until his throat is dry and raw to drown out the sounds.

Time passes; he hears her voice calling to him: her sweet scent piercing the space like meticulous pockets of air offering him sweet relief from the agony that encases him tighter than these four walls ever could.

He's growing blind to the images, the first wave of resistance coursing through him: the resemblance his love bears to a woman he thought he once knew no longer like binds that lead from his heart to his mouth.

She pulled the fastenings from his heart, held his hands in her own, rested her head against his until they were closer than eye-to-eye, nose-to-nose; they were heart-to-heart, sharing every breath together.

And this feeling, they don't make clichés that describe it.

There are no words others have used that could express just how deeply he feels for her; no words that could explain just how far her love stretches when he has had a world at his fingertips, continents lying at his feet, but he'd pull the stars from their Heaven just to light up her face.

He may be a slave to the hunger, but he's a hostage to her love, and there's a strength in that like you wouldn't believe.

.

She held him close, and then knocked him out; locked him up, and kept watch.

He can smell the river that runs through her, can see the blood that courses through her veins and arteries, can hear the rush to capillaries pushing to the surface.

He can smell her perfume, can see her face and her hands and her body, can hear every intake of breath that passes her lips.

If it was anyone else the urge would be stronger, overpowering, likely result in lapses of judgment he couldn't control. To destroy the steel door between them, rip out her jugular, suck her dry until she lay limp in his arms.

It's her though; and that will stop him every time.

For no matter how deep the senses go, she will always be able to reach him.

If love itself is magical, it doesn't hold a candle to her power.

He doesn't blame her, for what she has done.

How could he?

He loves her.

.

Love is risking everything to be with her, but ultimately knowing when to let go.

It is self-sacrifice.

Love is more powerful than he could ever claim to be.

Every feeling that burns within him radiates from her.

Love is what's in this cell with him, even when she's not on the other side.

And it will reside forever within him while she has his heart.

Love is a souvenir: once given, never forgotten.

She will always be with him.

For he knows, it's not life that's immortal; it's love.

.

_"There are only four questions of value in life._  
_What is sacred?_  
_Of what is the spirit made of?_  
_What is worth living for?_  
_What is worth dying for?_  
_The answer to each is the same. Only love."_  
**_Don Juan Demarco_**

The End.

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Ok, this was quite random and disjointed, so apologies for that.  
Hope you liked it though :D  
Thanks for reading and please let me know what you think – it means a lot.  
Steph  
xxx


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